


What Survives is Love

by NothingRemainsUnsaid



Category: Hyena (TV 2020), Kingdom (Season 1), The Face Reader
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25415353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingRemainsUnsaid/pseuds/NothingRemainsUnsaid
Summary: Memories of a past life make life complicated for Geum Ja and Hee Jae. AU in later chapters.
Relationships: Crossover of Kingdom + Face Reader + Hyena
Kudos: 13





	What Survives is Love

**JOSEON ERA**

Lee Chang doesn’t immediately turn around when he hears the twin doors to his chambers open and close. When he does, he sees her for the first time. She’s dressed in a red top and black skirt, her hair is up in an intricate knot. Her pale skin glows. But it is her face that holds his gaze for a few moments longer before he turns back and walks to the seating cushions at the end of the room.

Her lips are full and red. Her eyes are round in a perfectly oval face. But it is the expression in them that tells him: _“This is the right one.”_ Once he’s settled, he gestures for her to sit.

With a smile and nod, she settles gracefully on one of the cushions to his left. She doesn’t start the conversation, though. She waits. He’s satisfied. It tells him the woman in front of him is smart enough to read a situation. His face gives nothing away of his approval.

“You’re one of the most popular face-readers in the country.” She nods and smiles. She’s more than that, they both know it.

When she’d first gotten the summons, that the crown prince had requested her presence, she’d thought about saying no. There are bad rumors—persistent ones—of the unrest in the royal palace.

With the queen consort awaiting the birth of a child, speculation in every corner of the kingdom is rampant. If the child is a boy, that will put the current crown prince in a precarious position. Getting caught up in the middle of all that will be dangerous.

Even knowing all that, her smile doesn’t slip. She waits for him to say the rest, knowing she’ll have to say no. She has no desire to help others, only herself.

“I would like to ask for your help.” She looks at him. His expression is resolute.

“I’m only a face reader, your royal highness—"

“And as one of the best, you know that our country won’t survive another political upheaval.” He stares at her. She glances away before acknowledging that observation with a nod.

“Rumors have been going around that you’ve been looking for a lover. I was under the impression that was the reason for this meeting. But I see now I’m wrong.”

He doesn’t say a word. He waits for her to put together the rest. That tells her he respects her intelligence. She admires that in a man. So many men–and women–underestimate her that his behavior softens a little of her resolve to say no. The thought briefly crosses her mind that she can’t remember the last time she’s admired anyone or anything.

“That’s what you want the other faction to believe.”

He nods, smiling a little and that smile transforms his striking features. She realizes he’s handsome. 

“But you’re not, are you?” He only holds her gaze. “You’re not looking for a lover. You’re looking for a spy,” she finishes the thought. A flicker in his eyes tells her she’s right.

“We can’t waste any more time. Every day, the country falls deeper into ruin. I am here to ask for your help. I need someone from the **Yeon-Hong House** to act as my lover. But her real task will be to help me gather the information I need to end the Haewon Cho clan.”

“I don’t have anyone like that under my employ.” 

He turns to face her fully and she’s struck again by the perfection of his profile. In her line of work, she’s not easily impressed by a pretty face. She knows appearances often hide hideous tempers and ugly personalities. But there’s something compelling about the way he looks at her, at the fire in his eyes. It’s not easy to look away. 

“There’s you.”

He tilts his head. She draws back, eyes widening. He can’t possibly mean…?

“Are you asking me to be your spy?”

His lips quirk at the unintentional possessiveness at the thought of her being his in anything. _His_ spy.

“I want you to be a spy. You’re smart. You’re also in an excellent position to hear everything I need to know.”

She makes a disbelieving noise in her throat before she can stop herself.

“Why should I help you? You say I’m smart. Then the smart thing to do is to refuse.”

He doesn’t say a word, only tossing her a velvet pouch. One glance inside and she knows its gold. Gold or not, though, she can lose her head. She tries to reason with him one more time.

“They’ll never believe it. You have a stellar reputation in the kingdom. Whispers of you looking for a lover have been met with disbelief. The people know you for a scholarly crown prince. You’ve also never made any of your lovers public before. Doing so now will open that up to speculation. And to choose someone like me—”

“They’ll believe what we want them to.”

She tosses her head back and laughs. She looks at him with pity.

“Spoken like someone who’s never stepped foot outside of the palace. You can’t control what people talk about. And if they talk about us, your plans will fail. One look at us and your enemies will find us out immediately.”

“They won’t.”

“With so many young girls in my house, how will they believe you’ll choose me?”

At that, he tilts his head. The paleness of her skin is striking against the red and black gown she wears. Her eyes are big, round, and brown. To his fascination, though, her eyes turn golden under the candlelight.

“We’ll make them believe.”

He stands up and walks towards her until she has no choice but to look up. He’s so confident that everything will fall into place. _He’ll need to outgrow that,_ she thinks.

“Do you even know how to act?” There’s a little exasperation in her voice now.

“Yes.” He merely lowers himself onto the cushion, facing her. “Like this.” Then his hand reaches out and tugs at the ornament that binds her hair. His movement is slow. The straight black tresses fall to her waist. She lifts an eyebrow, elegantly, not freezing up even when he pulls her closer.

When his lips are a breath apart from his, she melts into his arms. One side of her lip lifts in what some may call a smirk. There’s a challenge in her eyes, even as she feels him lightly pressing her into the pillows. 

Gently, he holds her wrists in one hand and brings them up over her head. She arches her back and the movement—erotic and provocative—brings her body in full contact with his. She can feel his breathing, though, and it’s steady. She wonders what power on earth can disorder this man’s heartbeat.

He doesn’t kiss her. He waits, a question in his eyes. She understands, then, that she can say no. If she pushes him back, he’ll take that as a refusal.

But who can say no in this position? Up close, his nose is sharp and straight. She runs her tongue over her lower lip, a habit she does when she’s thinking. When she looks into his eyes, she feels everything else recede into the background. She knows what her answer will mean, what it will entail, what is at stake.

“Yes,” she whispers before she arches up, her lips meeting his.

Later, when the serving girls bring in his dinner, they open the door to the sight of the Crown Prince kissing a woman with hair down to her waist. The two are lying on the cushions. He only motions for them to bring in the food while he and the woman keep on kissing. He has one hand on her nape to hold her in place and the other on her back. Her fingers rub his ears and tunnel into his long hair.

They both do an excellent job of showing the world they’re lost in each other. When the doors close behind the servants, gossip runs through the entire palace like wildfire.

_“He can’t stop kissing her even when we came in.”_

_“We’ve never seen the prince so smitten.”_

_“She’s beautiful, skin so pale like the moon. Eyes bright like the stars.”_

By morning of the next day, the word on everybody’s lips is him and how he can’t take his eyes—and hands—off his new mistress, the madam of the largest pleasure house in the kingdom. 

_In this lifetime, he seeks her out first. They start a relationship based on pretense. It is a pattern they’ll repeat the next time their souls meet._

**II.**

Months pass. Many of their attempts to overthrow the Haewon Cho faction are thwarted. Prince Lee Chang and the Royal Investigation Bureau have a few small successes, but none big enough to swing the tide in their favor. Something is brewing, though. Their latest failure seems to be proof of that. They lose an entire contingent of soldiers in one of the towns near the capital.

Yeon-hong also brings in reports of people dying from a mysterious plague.

“Of what kind, no one tell. Or perhaps, it’s more accurate to say there’s no one alive to tell. It’s spreading quickly, though. People are worried. Villagers near the town have fled.” 

There’s no worry or terror in her expression. But this woman doesn’t scare easy. He’s discovered that in the last few months they’ve worked together. 

They set another plan into motion. Once done, she gets up to leave. It’s customary—in the presence of a royal—to wait until you’re dismissed. But they have long forgone these formalities. They don’t stand on ceremony around each other. The world of difference in their social status is a non-issue.

Instead, Lee Chang gestures to the table. “Won’t you join me?”

A feast is laid out, along with his dessert plate. _He loves his sweets_ , she thinks. Working together has made them comrades of a sort. It was a bond she did not expect.

Yeon-hong also discovers, among other things, that Prince Lee is smart. He cares about what happens to his people. Over time, she begins to believe that he’s exactly what the country needs in the long term. 

“Why do what you do?” She looks up, startled.

“What do you mean? Why I help you?” He only shakes his head.

She tips her head to one side, deciding whether to tell him truth or lie. Whether as a face reader or as a kisaeng, nearly all men were the same. A pretty face and words are often enough to make them eschew logic. She, best of all, knows how to spin lies and make men believe.

But this man is different. As if she needs any more reminders that the crown prince is unique among all the men in the kingdom. However, he looks at her without the derision she sees on many of the noblemen’s faces whenever they deal with her. 

“I was raised in the courtesan’s house since the age of 5. The tiniest mistake could lead to beatings, so I learned how to read people to survive. That’s how I started running a pleasure house at a young age.”

He nods, dark intense eyes on her. Up close, during their many meetings, she’s discovered one imperfection in his features: his eyes didn’t match—one is slightly larger than the other. She wonders why that only makes him seem more charming to her and why that even matters. It never has before. 

“What are you thinking about now?” He asks.

“You’re not quite what I expected.” She looks at him, shaking her head. That comment elicits a smile.

“I can say the same thing about you.”

“Why?”

“I used to think no other force on earth—but gold—can sway you.”

“That’s still true.”

“But that’s not all you are, though. Are you?”

He looks at her, unblinking in his gaze and she wonders what he sees whenever he looks at her. Everyone thinks the same when they look at a forty-plus-year-old woman, don’t they? That she’s old. She won’t be at the top of her game forever. 

Is that why she’s helping him now? Maybe this is her path to the afterlife, after all. She’s lived a long existence. With the kingdom on the brink of chaos, she’s open to the possibility that she may not survive.

_“He doesn’t need to know that, though_ ,” she tells herself.

“What will you do when you quit?”

“Leave the house to one of the girls, move somewhere—maybe near the sea. And I’ll pick a new name for myself. Geumja. That’s the name I’ll choose.”

They laugh over her love for gold. But they both know it signifies something else: stability, security, freedom. All the normal things most of everyone wants out of life. 

“Did you hear me?” His voice brings her back to the present.

She’s slightly flustered. She’s known for her legendary concentration. But being around him gets her imagination restless. He is, she realizes, her biggest distraction. In a time when a second’s inattention can get them killed, a distraction can spell the difference between life and death. And yet, here she is, her mind in all directions.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“I said: you’re immensely beautiful in this light.”

He speaks, without jesting, his eyes serious and earnest before resuming to eat. She laughs it off and they continue with the meal. She knows he doesn’t give out useless compliments. And that makes the words more honest than all the other compliments she’s received in a lifetime. 

She wonders, though, why it feels like something is stuck in her throat. It’s been so long it takes her a moment to recognize the emotion: pleasure, which feels close to happiness. 

**III.**

More weeks pass until the prince receives news of the king being sick. But his stepmother, the Royal Queen Consort, keeps him from seeing his father. It frustrates him to no end. When he comes back to his palace, he’s in a terrible mood. He calls for Mu-young, his personal guard and asks him to steal the medical log from the king’s palace.

Once Mu-young goes off, though, someone else enters his personal chambers. It’s Yeon-Hong. She sees him, still out of sorts and in a temper.

“What’s wrong, my royal highness?” His brow arches at her use of his title, at the word _my_. But he doesn’t mention it.

“They won’t let me see him.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Do you?”

“You’re worried about your father. Not just what his death will mean if it happens. But you genuinely care about him.”

At times like this, it’s easy to see that he’s so much younger than she is, both in mind and spirit. His heart, though, hardened by the trials growing up second-in-line to the throne—is still pure, like a child. It’s going to be easy for others to use him in the future. She’ll need to warn him about that, sometime. But not tonight. Not when he already has a lot on his mind.

“I’m his son.” As if that alone explained filial ties and bonds.

She doesn’t understand that kind of bond, though. She’s been abandoned at the pleasure house and had to work her way up in life. Bonds, borne out of trust or family, are weaknesses she can’t afford.

But the worry and misery on Lee Chang’s face are enough to stir something inside her. Before she can stop herself, she reaches out, running her knuckles along his cheek. His eyes widen. He’s not used to being touched. They’ve also kept their distance physically since that first night when she’d agreed to this ruse.

The kisses they’d exchanged had been enough to spread rumors to all four corners of the Kingdom and fool everyone else. They hadn’t done anything like that again.

She smiles at his surprise. She can’t make the worry disappear. But she can do something to make him forget. It’s a skill she’s honed for years to perfection.

She leans over and captures his lips in a slow kiss. It’s not long before he elbows all his books aside and clears his desk. He pulls her across it until she’s sitting on the desk and he’s standing between her legs. They keep on kissing. When they break apart for air, their breathing is rough, he leans his forehead over hers and asks:

“What are we doing right now? What are we?”

“What are we? Haven’t you been listening to the rumors?” She smiles. “We’re two people in love.”

“Do you even know what taking this step will mean for us?”

Does she? There’s never been a good time for a prince and a kisaeng to find themselves entangled in a relationship. With the kingdom under threat, though, this seems like the worst moment in history to start anything.

She doesn’t say that, though. Because she wants this. 

“Let’s just hold each other now. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

When their eyes meet, both don’t realize how open their gazes are, how their need for each other—raw, honest, and unexpected—fill the air. How it makes both of them feel alive.

**IV. Ramen. Move along if this isn’t the content you want.**

What she knows of love is so little. If someone asks her to write them out, they’ll be nothing more than a handful of lines on a scroll. Lust and heat are familiar to her. But in the weeks that follow, he gives her more than both—

When she expects the rush, he gives her gentleness instead. She doesn’t want that, though. Every time he presses his lips to her shoulder, her hip, her thigh, he brands her skin. Her body remembers each touch and kiss, leaving her sensitive. It doesn’t take more than a look from him to make her body want.

But she’s a professional. So, when she insists on being on top tonight, she fully intends to make him want her more. 

She focuses on the sensation of his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her bare skin. She’s on his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. Out of breath, she draws away, reaching out to the dessert tray beside the bed for another sweet treat. She puts the morsel in his mouth.

“Eat your dessert.” He smiles at the command, his eyes full of dark promise and heat.

Hearing her ordering him around excites him. When only the sweetness remains, the hand on her nape tugs her down for a kiss.

“Call my name,” she whispers against his mouth. His muscles tighten. He wonders what it is about her that makes him want her. 

“Hong—”

“My name. The one I’ll give myself when I live in a cottage by the sea. You’ll visit, won’t you?”

“Geumja—” She doesn’t hear his answer, though. Her hands move over his body and she swallows the moan that follows. Every time his tongue strokes hers, she feels like her body is on fire.

She breaks off the kiss. 

“Slow down, my royal high—" She laughs, but the laughter disappears when she sees the need in his eyes—and something else. She wonders if he sees the same expression in hers. That wonder for feeling this way in his arms, for having found this.

Looking down at that perfect face, she feels a little naughty. She runs her thumb along his lower lip, and he opens his mouth, thinking she’s going to put another dessert. She does, in a way.

She picks a sugary dessert and pops it into her mouth before giving him a kiss. The sugary confection dissolves under their tongues. She breaks off the kiss again. Looking into his eyes, she reaches for another treat from the dessert tray. When she looks, she realizes she’s picked up a peach. She brings that to his lips. When he bites into the fruit, juices stream down his chin and neck, down his body. She moves away from his lap, sitting on the bed, leaning over his chest instead.

“I love a good dessert,” she says, as she captures a nipple in her mouth. She hears him gasp.

“Shhh,” she warns, not looking up. The muscles in his stomach ripple. “Let me eat in peace.” She pushes him against the cushions, taking her time as she licks off all the juice.

She’s thorough, and by the time she’s done, her breathing—right along with his—is ragged.

When he flips her over, her fingers merely tunnel through his hair. She laughs softly when he pushes her legs apart.

“You’re too impatient,” she whispers, peppering his jaw and neck with kisses, nuzzling his ear. He gives her no warning, though. She cries out. He runs his tongue her lips in apology. She lets him in, kissing him back. When he starts moving inside her, her eyes slide shut. Each movement is deeper and rougher than the last. The pleasure builds.

She doesn’t expect him to pluck a slice of peace from the tray. Sweet, sticky juice runs down her body when he bites through the fruit. He tosses that back, while he licks his way down her skin. He doesn’t stop driving into her.

When he bites her, lightly, on the tip of one breast, she convulses. With another rough thrust, she quakes and sighs his name.

**V.**

Prince Lee Chang encounters the monster at the king’s palace. He and Mu-young race off after his father’s physician to investigate. In the next few days, he sends word to her about what they’ve discovered: about the plague, people expiring only to come back from the dead as monsters. He mentions the resurrection plant and the people he’s met along the way—a bumbling official who manages to stay alive, a nurse who works to find a cure, an archer—

Before he and his group reach Hanyang, he asks her to meet him at one of the many towns they’ll pass by.

**VI.**

He can’t get enough of her. He makes love to her against the door, kissing her as soon as she walks in. He’s afraid of what these emotions mean. At a time when his nation needs him the most, will he falter because of a woman? Will he make bad decisions? Will it lead to more suffering for his people?

“I can feel your desperation.” She’s in his arms. He hugs her from behind. This is his favorite position when they’re in bed.

They’ve relied on each other for comfort for more than a year now. But she can feel something’s changed. The growing unrest and the monstrous discovery of the plague, and what’s happened to his father, also mean they have no time for this.

“I’m leaving in the morning. I’m closing down the pleasure house, giving the girls money, and leaving for good.” She feels him freeze behind her for a moment before the arm around her waist tightens.

“You will defeat this.”

He doesn’t say a word.

“Listen to me. You will. You will. And when you do, when all this is over, find a good woman, someone who’s right for you. Marry her. Raise your heirs. Forget me—”

“You’ve already said that. You’ve told me to remember you if I succeed and to forget you if the revolution fails—"

“No, this, time, forget me. Completely—” He doesn’t listen, though. Instead, he pushes at her shoulder until she lies on her back, his body over hers. He smiles. She tries to smile, but the frown and wounded expression in her eyes make it hard for her to pull that off.

“I didn’t expect you to be this happy over the thought of me leaving.” His smile widens before he shakes his head.

“I’m smiling at you.” Her brow furrows in confusion. It’s not going to take more than a moment or two before the annoyance starts. She tries to turn her back on him. He locks his hands on her shoulders, that tender expression on his face doesn’t slip. 

“Stay still. I want to see you.”

“Why?”

“I want to remember this moment forever.”

In the glow of candles, she looks like a queen. The gold glint in her eyes makes him think she’d picked the right name, after all. When he kisses her lips and then traces a path down her body to her heart, he whispers: “My Guemja.”

**VII.**

They stand at the borders of the town. This is where they’ll go their separate ways. He’s off to meet up with the rest of his party. Before he takes another step, though, he picks up the strange, inhuman sounds coming from a distance. They look at each other, their eyes widening in alarm. They know what those sounds mean.

The plague is here.

And her servants aren’t trained to fight.

“Here!” He tosses her a sword and meets the hoard head on. What seems like hours pass. In reality, it’s only been a few minutes. She tries her best to defend herself. They’re both lucky the group is small. 

In the midst of all the chaos, at the sight of the bodies that now litter the ground, headless and bloody, she wonders if there’s hope for them, for humanity to overcome the plague.

She also knows one thing: this is the last moment they’ll have with each other. If this is what they’re up against, there’s no guarantee both of them will come out alive. She looks at him. His face—with splashes of blood and a coating of road dust, with a nose so straight and sharp and a pair of mismatched eyes—has never looked more perfect.

She tugs at his robe until he leans down. When she reaches up a hand to his cheek, she rubs off a speck of dirt, before placing a kiss on his lips: sweet and demanding, before pushing him away. They promise to meet. He’s hopeful they’ll see each other again.

She looks over to the horizon as he disappears and imagines him going straight to the capital where dust, fires, and screams in the darkness besiege every moment of the city, his tall figure cutting a swath through the army of the undead.

She tells herself she’s always known how things will end. Even without the plague and the kingdom standing between them, they will always be from different worlds. That means there’s only ever one ending for them, even if he hasn’t realized that yet.

_What are we?_

_Two people in love._

She’s known what was coming from the first day she’d arched up to meet his kiss. Even if he hasn’t. When he’d asked:

_Do you know what you’re doing_?

_Yes._ Maybe even more than he does.

As she watches his back vanish from sight, she understands that this, too, is part of their arrangement: that when the moment comes to say goodbye, to kiss him for the last time, to let him go—

To let him go.

**VII.**

According to all the surviving records from that time, Prince Lee Chang defeats the plague but perishes in the attempt to retake the palace. His lover disappears.

No accounts exist of where she goes or how she gives birth to a son who looks just like him, down to his eyes and nose, his height. As far as history is concerned, the crown prince and the face reader never meet again in this lifetime.

**PRESENT DAY KOREA**

_It’s the same damn dream again,_ Geumja sighs.

She sits up in bed, trying not to wake up the man beside her. A glance at the clock on their bedside says it’s 4 am. No wonder it’s still dark outside.

“What is it?” Hee Jae mumbles into the pillow, his arm reaching out to her. She dodges the arm to slide her legs over to the side of the bed.

“Nothing. I think you were in my dream, though.”

“How often do you dream of me?”

She rolls her eyes. Even without looking at him, she knows what she’ll see: a smirk on his sleepy, handsome face.

She doesn’t tell him, though, that she’s been having strange dreams. Where he’s a crown prince, she’s a face reader, and there are zombies.

She doesn’t say anything because, knowing Hee Jae, he’d insist on asking for every little detail, down to the last one. What she recalls is crazy enough. She also doesn’t want to say that in the dreams, the parts that she remembers best are the ones where they make love.

**II.**

When the door closes behind her, Hee Jae sighs. He hasn’t been getting much rest, too. He’s only thankful Geumja is a little distracted that she hasn’t clued in yet to his bouts of sleeplessness.

When he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing her in a period dress, which he’d traced back to the Joseon era. He knows because he’s already done his research. He doesn’t say anything, though, because he can’t quite tell her how his dreams often involve making love to her until they can’t breathe. 

It’s also gotten to a point that he feels déjà vu, that sense of having lived through a moment twice. He remembers that day in the closet, a year or so ago, when they’d still been working at Song & Kim.

_“What are we?”_

_Geumja asks, her face a mixture of frustration, annoyance, and genuine confusion. Whatever she’s prepared for, though, it was clear his answer was the last thing she expected._

_“Two people in love.”_

_He’d tossed the words at her, his heart on his sleeve. He wasn’t afraid to say he loved her, or that by saying so, by seeing the tears in his eyes, she’d know nothing had changed: that he still felt the same way._

However, he keeps going back to that moment in his head, even sometimes in his dreams, and Hee Jae can’t shake off the feeling that he’s been in that situation before. He’s heard the same words. He’s lived through the same moment.

He’s not quite sure what’s happening.

**III.**

In the bathroom, Geumja tries to get herself under control. Aside from the dreams, she keeps having this weird sensation that she’s lived through certain moments more than once in her life. She remembers that night in the local grill, when Hee Jae had come by. 

_“I’m going to tell you something,” she’d said. “You’d better remember it,” she’d warned. He’d leaned closer._

_“Just stay where you are. And keep on doing what you do. Ask your family or friends to find a nice lady who’s right for you.” He drew away from the table and laughed a little at her words._

_But she was serious. She kept pointing a finger at him._

_“Get married and have kids. Just live like that. Okay? Maintain that dignity,” she added._

But Hee Jae had completely demolished that request when he’d stood up and said: _“I, too, am annoyed at how we keep crossing each other’s paths. But the thing is, I get even more annoyed when I don’t see you around.”_

That hadn’t been the only time Hee Jae had declared his love for her. But she wonders why it is this moment that keeps echoing in her head. As though she’d said the words more than once.

Is she going crazy? She isn’t the superstitious type. But maybe she needs to talk to someone about this. She looks at the door, thinking of the man sleeping in her bed. Well, it was his bed. She’d moved in a year and a half ago. She wonders how he’ll react to: “we’ve been making love in my dreams for weeks.”

In the next few minutes, she’s about to find out.

**IV.**

When Geumja walks out of the bathroom, Hee Jae takes note of the dark circles under her eyes and the way she can’t look at him. Maybe he’s not the only one hiding something. When she sits beside him in bed, he takes her hand. He opens his mouth to say:

“I’ve been having weird dreams—”

At the same time, she says:

“We’ve been having sex in my dreams—”

“What?”

“What?”

They look at each other.

“Are we having the same dreams?”

**V.**

_A few weeks before all the dreams start:_

They’re home, working on cases as they sit right across from each other in his study. He had one made when she moved in with him. The team has decided to hold all meetings via video calls these days, following restrictions due to the coronavirus.

Hee Jae, though, purely by accident, finds one of the files from the enormous box she’d brought home the day the quarantine was announced. He bids his time, though. He doesn’t bring it up, not for days. Not until today.

“You didn’t tell me. Why?”

At his words, she barely flicks a glance in his direction before she continues to review the document in her hand.

“You know why.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“It was nothing.”

“Your life and safety aren’t nothing to me.”

“That’s not what I said.” Her gaze and voice are steady.

“Well, when the woman you love doesn’t say anything about being stabbed nearly to death, that makes you wonder.”

“I didn’t want you to worry. Okay?” She turns to him fully, the files on her desk forgotten.

“Jung Guem Ja—” He says.

“Yoon Hee Jae—” She returns the favor. In fact, she goes a step further, as she looks at him from under her lashes. She’s starting to get annoyed. 

“Don’t take chances, anymore, okay?”

She sighs, running her tongue over her lower lip. Her expression says she’s thinking about what to say. If it were anyone else, she’d probably be dealing with an angry partner right now, one who’d be spitting mad.

What she loves about Hee Jae is that he knows getting angry isn’t the answer. She doesn’t need more emotions heaped up on her. And he’s not trying to make her feel guilty. When she looks into his eyes, she knows all he wants is an answer.

“I saw the bruises. You must have had band-aids on your hands and cheek. Even holding up your phone would have been a struggle.”

His voice is nearly emotionless. He remembers sitting at his dining table when he saw the alert that his text message had been read. He’d been disappointed when she’d failed to send even a single word in reply. What had he expected?

That disappointment had festered into annoyance and anger. It hadn’t helped that every corner of his condo contained memories of her. It had made the night even more unbearable. He remembered his resolve not to let her take any more of his time.

He hadn’t known that while he was doing his best to be petty, she was in an alley, hurt, being attacked, and fighting for her life. 

**VI.**

“I saw the bruises. They would have lasted more than a week. You must have had band-aids on your hands and cheek for days. Not to mention the bruises on your stomach, your back, your hips. You must have hurt everywhere. Even holding up your phone would have been a struggle.”

She acknowledges all that with a nod. Her achy finger joints had made it hard to get the phone out of her pocket and read his message. But mentioning that will only make him feel bad.

“I’m not hurt now. Besides, we’d broken up that day or the day before. You were furious at me. You wouldn’t have cared—” She stops, biting her lip at the memory of his text message. 

He’d been breathing fire at her, ready to toss her out the window for playing him like a fool, for the way she’d won underhandedly against him in court. He’d all but cursed her if he could, vowing never to cross paths with her again.

Only to text her hours later. Only to tell her: “Watch out for the jackass with a knife.”

What does that say about the goodness of his heart? The extent of his love?

He had cared. She knows that better than anyone else. She remembers standing in front of the building—the one they now own. She’d been feeling low after the encounter. She’d won, having come out of it with only a few scrapes and bruises while her attacker had to spend weeks in treatment. She’d only been kicked in the ribs and stomach a few times. She survived. She was going to be all right.

But it had brought all the memories back: the helplessness and misery. She’d bitten off her assailant’s hand and ear, the same way she’d done years ago. Was life nothing more than a cycle of abuse, then? How funny was it that she’d find herself in the same position she did when she’d been a helpless child, nearly beaten to death?

Staring up the building that shot like a dark tower into the Seoul Skyline, she’d felt a little of her resolve go. She hadn’t been beaten, no. She was made of sterner, stronger stuff. But she’d been sad. Is life merely a series of bad luck? If you fight long enough, hard enough, why doesn’t it seem enough? Is she still not good enough? Is happiness ever possible?

She’d been wondering if it was all worth it. If she’d ever get there. If she’d ever succeed.

Only to read his text. Only to know that if she’d died that night, stabbed through her still-beating heart in an alley, she’d have one other person aside from Ji Eun & Joo Ho at her funeral.

Hee Jae would have come. 

**VII.**

Reading his text had made an odd emptiness flicker in her heart, at the thought of that love, that warmth, disappearing from his eyes. The loss of his regard had cut deep after the breakup. It had taken them some time before things had gotten better on that front. He’d started out mean and petty—he still is sometimes.

But his text had told her, more than anything else, that she could trust him. It was the first time she’d felt something for him that went beyond the way she admires his brain, or how nice he looks in a shirt with his broad shoulders and firm muscles, or the way he kisses her, sweet and with a little urgency, a little undertone of roughness.

That was the moment she’d realized she could fall in love with him.

**VIII.**

“I don’t like knowing you’ve been hurt.” 

“What’s really bothering you?” She leans back in her chair, her pose relaxed, a question in her eyes. She knows Hee Jae by now. A year and a half of living together is enough to give anyone insight into each other.

When he still doesn’t say what, when he refuses to answer, she continues:

“You know I’m fine. I got out of that encounter alive. Why are you getting worked up over something that happened a year ago or so? Tell me.” She doesn’t take her eyes off him.

“The first time I saw you after that, I said: _I see you’re still alive. How unfortunate_. I said that, not knowing—"

She laughs. “Are you guilty over that? Is that the reason you’ve been losing sleep over this?” He ignores her laughter, his face grave and serious. 

“For you to have tears on your pants like the ones in the photos the police took as evidence, you would have had to crawl to get to the pile of bricks. You would have tried to stand up after that. Your stomach would have been on fire after getting kicked and punched.”

“Yoon.” She calls him by this nickname. She’s the only one who uses it. Her voice is soft, like a sigh.

“Do you understand why?” She knows he’s not angry. She nods.

“I understand perfectly. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

She doesn’t meet his gaze when he looks at her, focusing on the files on her desk instead.

“I didn’t say anything because, yes, I wanted to avoid this. I know you. You’ll hide it from me. But you’ll be angry and hurt. You’ll feel bad and you’ll worry. I understand because I’ll feel all that, too, if the same thing happened to you.”

“Worse, it would end me if I lost you.” She says that while going over the document in her hand. She looks calm and collected.

Inside, she’s a mess. She doesn’t understand a single word of the document she’s thumbing through on her desk. As usual, Hee Jae is a colossal distraction.

_He doesn’t need to know that, though._

**IX.**

Hee Jae is speechless.

He’s used to the effect Geumja has on him. Her ideas, her methods, even her ways of resolving their cases, still manage to surprise him. But her telling him straight off what she’d feel if she lost him isn’t something they’d ever touched on before. 

“What did you say?”

“Why?” She hedges before giving in, before saying the words. “Everybody knows I love you.” 

“You never say it.” That confuses her.

“I do,” she looks up, exasperated. “I say it.”

“Not like this. Not without me saying it first. Not without prompting.”

Her eyes soften and she bites her lower lip. He crosses the distance between their desks, pulls her to her feet and to the rich brown couch a few steps off. Seated side by side, he takes her hands in his, kissing each knuckle, the back of her hand. 

“When I saw those photos, the bruises, I wanted to kiss every single one away—all your scratches and scrapes. I wanted to make all the ache disappear.”

“Well, bacteria and infection are tricky things…” She doesn’t get to finish the rest of that sentence, though, when she looks into his eyes.

“I love you, Geumja.”

That night in bed, she’s limp against the cushions. He leans over her.

“It broke me too see you so hurt.”

“I know. But the past doesn’t matter now.”

She reaches out a hand, her palm cupping his cheek.

_The past doesn’t matter now._

She knows whatever history they bring from that time—from when she’d been Hee Sun—will carry over into their relationship. But they were solid enough, in sync enough, not to let whatever bad memories they had get in the way.

What was a little history when they have a future together?

_She doesn’t realize how ironic the words are for two people who’ve managed to find each other in another lifetime._

_In a twist of fate, though, or mere happenstance, it is after this conversation that they start having dreams. Something about the past not being important serves as a trigger to wake up their memories from another place and time._

**X.**

“Are we having the same dreams?”

They stare at each other.

“You go first,” Geumja insists. 

He scowls but complies. He tells her about seeing her in a period dress, having traced that back to the Joseon era. He never sees himself clearly enough, but knows he’s a member of the royal class, which is already funny enough.

“No, you’re not just a member. In my dreams, you’re the crown prince.”

“I am?” He’s momentarily tickled by the idea. She rolls her eyes. “Also, in the dream, you try to save your father…” She trails off, realizing what she’d said. His smile is tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.” He sighs.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. We’ve made our peace.”

“You also have an annoying best friend. Who readily betrays you—”

“Are you talking about Gi Hyeok? Gi Hyeok? Daebak.”

“You do realize that means he’s betrayed you in more than one lifetime?”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, though, as he beams over the thought of how awesome it is to have been best friends in more than one lifetime. Geumja just shakes her head, tossing him a pitying glance. The man really is a child sometimes.

“There’s one other thing, though.” He looks at her, as though, thinking about whether to say something or not.

“What is it?”

“In my dream, there are zombies. I’m fighting them off. And I remember you. We made a promise to see each other again. You asked me to visit you,” he recalls. 

“I don’t remember that. I do remember—” she bites her lower lip first, deciding how much to tell him about their encounters in the dreams. “I remember us spending a lot of time in bed. In the dreams.”

“What does it all mean, though?”

“What do you mean?” Hee Jae asks. He gently puts a finger under her chin until they’re face to face. 

“I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe in predestination. That everything is preordained or that we have no will over what happens.” 

“Maybe it’s not as clear-cut as that. Think of it this way: some people who are fated to meet and fall in love. In several lifetimes. Maybe that’s us.”

Geumja scoffs at the thought.

“Falling in love thousands of years ago doesn’t mean anything now. We’re not those people anymore.” Knowing about their past lives doesn’t change anything for her.

“You’re not a prince now. Unless one considers your former position at Song & Kim. If I hadn’t come along or things had happened differently, you would have been handed the keys to that kingdom—”

“Well, I’m glad you happened instead,” he kissed her knuckles while she still stewed over the dreams. He laughs softly at her expression.

“What is it that bothers you?”

“That we’re all puppets on a string. That I had no choice but to fall in love with you.”

“I think there’s always a choice, Geumja. But this morning, you don’t need to believe in fate. You only need to believe in this.” 

He kisses her forehead, pulling at her arm until she settles against his side. She feels the tension dissolve as she absorbs some of the warmth from his body.

“Past lives or not, we’ve already found each other. Maybe that’s just what fate means. It makes things happen so people like you and me end up together.”

“You and me?”

“People who are perfect for each other.” 

**XI.**

Love is rarely about big, abstract things. But when you’re the crown prince of a nation, you can’t help but think about love in big moments.

In his dream, Hee Jae remembers the sheer terror of every fight he’s ever been in. The diseased and decaying flesh of the undead that overrun villages in the kingdom. 

He also remembers her. 

She’s standing near the windows in his personal chambers. When she turns, awash in moonlight, she takes his breath away. The pale skin, the perfect features, the pale tips of her breasts. Does she know how she affects him?

The people of this nation matter to him. But, for a few moments, looking at all that loveliness, he tells himself: just a word from her, and I will forfeit righteousness.

He never will, of course. But it is enough to know that for a moment, he believes he can. For a moment, he is free to imagine that a life together is possible.

**XII.**

The brewing unrest means that their time together will be rare in the coming days. She wonders if he feels this, too, though.

What does she know of love, anyway? Nothing at all. Except that the emotion often feels so big while her heart feels too small to contain it.

His resolve and strength to withstand the problems, to continue to fight for the people of this country, come from an irrepressible impulse and deep conviction to do good, to make life better. How can she not love him for that, too?

When she turns around, he’s awake. The soulful tenderness in his gaze unbinds her heart. For her, nothing will ever be the same again.

When she sits by the bed, he reaches out to touch the tips of her hair.

“I love my people and my country, as it is my duty. But there’s a part of me that loves you and wants only to save this nation—this world—because it has you. And that’s reason enough—”

She doesn’t let him say anything else. She already believes him. She doesn’t need the words. Leaning over, she captures his mouth in a kiss. 

He pulls the loose robe off her, drawing her down to the bed. When he leans over her, she brushes off a lock of his hair, falling across his forehead. She’s amazed at how lust and tenderness can make her heart race at the same time.

**XIII. Ramen. Move along if this isn’t the content you want.**

When Geumja wakes up, her skin glistens with sweat. Need fires up her blood. She turns to him, just as Hee Jae pulls her closer.

“The dream?” He asks. She nods against his chest.

“Me too,” he says.

When they kiss, there’s a sense of desperation that underlies the act. It’s not long before they’ve lost their clothes. When he pins her to the bed, she merely arches her back, gasping at the sensation of his bare chest on hers.

“I want—” she says, but he cuts her off. He strokes her cheek with gentleness.

“You don’t need to demand anything from me.” He kisses her. “Just ask,” he whispers against her mouth.

Tears unexpectedly come. They fill her eyes, just as he slides deep inside her. He doesn’t give her any warning, though, because she likes that first bite of pain. She gasps at the force of his entry. But they’re both excited and aroused. When he kisses her, he makes it hard for her to breathe. 

Hee Jae starts moving and she bites a spot near his throat. It sends his pulse racing. She sucks at the skin until she leaves a mark. Another hickey. But she’s not worried. The people at Choong are so used to the sight by now no one even pays any attention anymore.

When he drives deeper, rougher, she turns her face into his shoulder, biting her lip against a scream.

**EPILOGUE**

In the middle of a spacious living room are two kids: a boy and a girl. There’s a pile of collapsed Jenga blocks between them.

“I win again,” says the girl. She crows in triumph.

The little boy adjusts his glasses with two fingers. He looks at the girl with doubt in his eyes.

“I don’t think you followed the rules, _noona_.”

He doesn’t outright call his sister a cheater, though. He’s not stupid. 

“It doesn’t say we can’t do that, right?”

She smirks. When she does that, she looks like their mom. The boy sighs. Why are the women in this family so good at this? He always sees his mom bamboozle his dad and a lot of his uncles at Choong.

“Should we play again? Maybe you’ll win this time!” 

Faced with the question, the little boy looks at his sister with even more doubt in his eyes. She smiles innocently. Both of them have round, brown eyes. It isn’t fair, though, that on his twin, the eyes looked melting and gold under certain lights. She uses that look to her advantage, too. The way he’s seen his eomma use it on his appa. 

“Okay. Whatever.”

He prepares for another round. He’d give it another go. Who knows? This time he may finally win over his sister.

From the loft overlooking the living room, Geumja and Hee Jae watch over the two.

“She’s cheating,” he whispers into her ear while elbowing her lightly to make a point. His wife of ten years only shakes her head indulgently.

“Why are you so proud of that?”

“I’m not. I’m just a normal father observing his twins.”

“He’s going to lose the next round, too. Your son thinks and acts like you.”

“He’ll learn. Meanwhile, your daughter thinks and acts like you.”

“And on that note, this is the sixth time we’ve been called to the principal’s office, you know.” Ji Eun’s mentioned it to her several times. He huffs at the reminder.

“She’s just asking questions in class.” His tone is just the tiniest bit defensive. Geumja rolls her eyes. He’s so protective of the twins. 

Their daughter’s inquisitive and forceful personality, though, might be a bit of a handful for others. 

Her teachers clearly don’t have a sense of humor. Maybe she and Hee Jae ought to consider a different school?

“Should we talk to her?” Hee Jae asks, his mind on the same thing. He doesn’t like the thought of curbing their daughter’s enthusiastic approach in life, especially in or out of the classroom.

“No, not right away. I’ll say her Auntie Ji Eun is worried, though. That may help. Though we may be better off—”

“New school,” he finishes the thought.

“Bingo.” After all these years, she loves it that she doesn’t even need to say anything else. He knows.

Later, when the kids are done playing and they’ve eaten dinner, Hee Jae and Geumja tuck the twins into bed. The two ask for a bedtime story.

“Tell us again how you and mom met!”

Sitting by the side of the bed, Geumja glares at Hee Jae over the tops of their children’s heads. One night, when they’ve read through everything in the library and the kids had asked for a story, he told them about the day he first sees their mother. He didn’t think they’d remember.

But they did. And every once in a while, they’d ask for that story. It’s become an enduring favorite. Before she can intervene, though, her phone rings. 

She tugs at the body strap she still wears, sees the caller, and with an apology in her eyes, she leaves the room.

Hee Jae sighs in relief. Now, he can start his story in peace. Hopefully, he’d be done by the time that call ends.

“One day I went to the laundromat and your mom was there.”

“Mom knew you’d be there, though? Auntie Ji Eun told us.” Their little girl, who looks just like Geumja, giggles.

“She did. She even asked your Auntie Ji Eun to put the lights out.”

“Were you scared, appa?”

Their son asks. The child looks just like him—except for the eyes. It always gives him a secret thrill to see that the twins have their mother’s eyes.

“Nope. Your eomma used her phone to light up the laundromat instead.”

“Maybe eomma knew you’d be afraid, appa.”

“Maybe she did.”

He chuckles at the thought, tousling his son’s hair as the child nestles into his left side. Their daughter is on the right. Of the two, the little boy is more innocent and child-like. Their daughter, on the one hand, was born ready to conquer the world. Differences aside, though, they love both kids equally.

The bedtime story continues until he comes to the climax: the very first time he and the mother of his children finally meet in court.

“Were you very angry, appa?” Their daughter asks.

“A little.”

Over the tops of their heads, though, he glances over at Geumja, now standing at the doorway and mouths: _“A LOT.”_

She just laughs softly, shaking her head. Petty Hee Jae strikes again. She jerks her head a little and he understands what she means: _finish the story._

“I wasn’t angry for long, though. I already loved your mom by then.”

“How did mom make you fall in love with her?”

He glances over at Geumja. Their kids won’t understand how he felt the first time he’d seen her in the laundromat, as though everything inside him had screamed one thought: _mine._

Mentioning anything about living through another lifetime and finding each other again will only confuse them. And make them think their parents are bonkers. 

“She let magic back into my life.”

“Like jellybeans that grow into beanstalks?”

“Like a magic carpet that can fly?”

He shakes his head.

“She made life better just by being there.”

“How is that better than magic beans, appa?”

“Or magic carpets—”

“Or three wishes—”

“Imagine being trapped in a cold, dark castle.”

“How cold and dark is this castle?”

His daughter, ever the skeptic and logical of the twins. They’ll have their hands full with this one. He can tell. He’s going to enjoy seeing Geumja meeting her match.

“It’s so cold and so dark that you’ll be sad all your life.”

There are gasps of horror from the two children _. Finally,_ he thinks. Something that scares the little monsters.

“At one point, both of us were inside that castle.”

“You were?” They ask, their eyes unblinking. He nods earnestly.

“And we helped each other escape.”

“You did?” Two pairs of round-brown eyes stare back at him, one doubtful and the other one, full of trust.

The thing about telling this story is that he’s free to change some of the details over the years. It drives the twins crazy whenever they hear a part of the story they’ve never heard before. Like now.

“We did.”

“So, you’re just like the princess in the story, appa?” His daughter asks. That makes him cough.

“Omo, no, no, not a princess. A prince—”

“Only princesses get stuck in castles.” The little girl says.

“Now, that’s just not true. Do you think little boys don’t get stuck, too? People need help. It doesn’t matter if they’re a prince or a princess.” And the mini-Geumja smiles.

“You know what, appa? I think, sometimes, you’re right.” He smiles at the ‘sometimes.’ His daughter took after her mom in so many ways. 

“So, you didn’t save eomma?”

“We didn’t need to be saved. We only needed each other’s help. That’s how we fell in love.”

An hour or two later, with the kids asleep, they sit out on the porch. They lean back in their chairs, looking at the night sky. 

“I hope they’ll stay kids a little while longer.” She smiles. Without saying a word, Geumja reaches out a hand. Hee Jae captures it in his.

“Do you remember that day? When we bought that building?” Hee Jae pulls their entwined hands. She glances over. More than ten years together and the way her eyes capture the light still makes his heart sing. 

“We stared over the horizon on the rooftop and you said—"

“It’s a good spot for killing zombies.”

She shakes her head, chuckling at the memory.

“Well, it is.” Hee Jae insists. “You never know. We already have a building. Maybe we should stock up on supplies. Just in case there’s a zombie apocalypse.” 

Laughter fills the air around them.

In another lifetime, they make a promise to each other, under the stars, just like this. In the years that follow, their hearts will echo the same wish:

_Let’s always find each other, in this lifetime and the next._

**EPILOGUE II**

The man they used to call Crown Prince Lee Chang is dead. The man who stands now at the edge of the property is called by a different name: Hee Jae. 

It’s a name he picked up from one of his retainers. It doesn’t sound like the name of a prince.

He likes that. 

It’s taken him years to find her. He’s heard that aside from raising a little boy, she’d also adopted a teenager. A girl she’d named Ji Eun. It’s a good name. Strong. Resilient.

He looks over at the house. It’s bigger than a cottage but still small enough not to attract any attention. She’d appreciate that, after years of running a pleasure house. She always told him she loves the thought of retiring in the quiet, away from the limelight. She’d moved to a home by the sea.

_“You’ll visit, won’t you?”_

Before his memories can go any further, he sees the little boy dart through the yard. He’s struck by how much he looks like him. He’s already suspected, judging by how old the child is in the reports that reached him. But seeing him is something else.

Years ago, she’d made him promise to forget her. But he couldn’t. Instead, he’d done his best to put the kingdom in the right hands. He’s already given the reins to someone else. That means he succeeded, right?

Before he can decide whether to knock, step into the yard, or simply come back at another time, she moves into view. Just like that, his heart stops.

The long years of separation, of fighting against the plague, have often made him feel like he’s been living in the darkness for a long time, with no other goal or future in sight. Seeing her again, being this near to her, makes him feel that the sky has finally opened up with the warmth of a thousand suns. 

She’s aged. But she’s still as beautiful as ever. When she turns her head, he knows what she’ll see: a tall figure by the gate wearing dusty clothes and a hat that casts his features in shadow.

Even with the distance, though, he sees her smile. The next thing they know, they run right into each other’s arms. There are tears in her eyes.

“I succeeded. After all these years, I finally did.” She touches his cheek. He’s aged, too.

He touches hers and the skin is as soft as he remembers, the round brown eyes that see so much of people and the world. Hugging her, breathing in her scent, he feels as though he’s finally come home.

In the years that follow, they watch their children grow, both their little boy and the teen she’d adopted. Sometimes, she still reads faces. But these days, she prefers running the small school they’d started.

One night, they’re sitting out on a blanket under the sky.

“I thought you’d really died. We heard you and your comrades had overtaken the capital.

The news had reached us about how bloody the attempt was. I never imagined you’d find me—find us—after all those years.”

He takes her hand and makes a promise:

“Let’s find each other in every lifetime, then. Let’s search in every world until our fates meet again. Because I want to do this over and over with you.”

_That night, they fall asleep in each other’s arms, counting stars, not fully realizing how human will and emotion shape destiny. How sometimes, seeding a wish—putting something of yourself out there in the void—creates magic. How, through luck, fate, or chance, the universe conspires to make your wish happen._

_Maybe it’s true that nothing once put in the universe ever leaves us. Maybe when you love someone—that emotion, thought, and atom—stays in the universe. So that even when we return to dust in every lifetime, what will survive of us is something eternal._

_What will survive of us is love._

**_THE END_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Note: That’s a wrap for this crossover attempt. Thanks for sticking around till the end. ❤️😊
> 
> To everyone else who adores this OTP, along with KHS and JJH, love you! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> If you wanna read my other stories, visit me and my moots at https://noth1ngremainsunsaid.wixsite.com/website/
> 
> Fangirl with us! 😊


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